It was not until after his crime that Brodie’s heroism approved itself.  And even then his was a triumph not of skill but of character.  Always a gentleman in manner and conduct, he owed the success and the failure of his life to this one quality.  When in flight he made for Flushing on board the Endeavour, the other passengers, who knew not his name, straightway christened him ‘the gentleman.’  The enterprise itself would have been impossible to one less persuasively gifted, and its proper execution is a tribute to the lofty quality of his mind.  There was he in London, a stranger and a fugitive; yet instead of crawling furtively into a coal-barge he charters a ship, captures the confidence of the captain, carries the other passengers to Flushing, when they were bound for Leith, and compels every one to confess his charm!  The thief, also, found him irresistible; and while the game lasted, the flash kens of Edinburgh murmured the Deacon’s name in the hushed whisper of respect.

His fine temperament disarmed treachery.  In London he visited an ancient doxy of his own, who, with her bully, shielded him from justice, though betrayal would have met with an ample reward.  Smith, if he knew himself the superior craftsman, trembled at the Deacon’s nod, who thus swaggered it through life, with none to withhold the exacted reverence.  To this same personal compulsion he owed his worldly advancement.  Deacon of the Wrights’ Guild while still a young man, he served upon the Council, was known for one of Edinburgh’s honoured citizens, and never went abroad unmarked by the finger of respectful envy.  He was elected in 1773 a member of the Cape Club, and met at the Isle of Man Arms in Craig’s Close the wittiest men of his time and town.  Raeburn, Runciman, and Ferguson the poet were of the society, and it was with such as these that Brodie might have wasted his vacant hour.  Indeed, at the very moment that he was cracking cribs and shaking the ivories, he was a chosen leader of fashion and gaiety; and it was the elegance of the ‘gentleman’ that distinguished him from his fellows.

The fop, indeed, had climbed the altitudes of life; the cracksman still stumbled in the valleys.  If he had a ready cunning in the planning of an enterprise, he must needs bungle at the execution; and had he not been associated with George Smith, a king of scoundrels, there would be few exploits to record.  And yet for the craft of housebreaker he had one solid advantage:  he knew the locks and bolts of Edinburgh as he knew his primer—­for had he not fashioned the most of them himself?  But, his knowledge once imparted to his accomplices, he cheerfully sank to a menial’s office.  In no job did he play a principal’s part:  he was merely told off by Smith or another to guard the entrance and sound the alarm.  When M’Kain’s on the Bridge was broken, the Deacon found the false keys; it was Smith who carried off such poor booty as was found.  And though the master suggested the attack upon Bruce’s shop, knowing full well the simplicity of the lock, he lingered at the Vintner’s over a game of hazard, and let the man pouch a sumptuous booty.